


I'll meet you where the sun always shines

by reindeersidecar



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: F/F, Miscarriage, Phone Sex, pregnant jane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 19:32:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17607572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeersidecar/pseuds/reindeersidecar
Summary: Maura helps Jane navigate her pregnancy.





	I'll meet you where the sun always shines

Jane sat on the toilet, her temple pressed to the cool wall tile. “I want to keep it.” Her voice took a lap around the small, cold, empty room, and by the time it made its way back, it didn’t sound like her anymore.

“You’ll raise it alone,” Casey’s words crackled through the phone wedged between her shoulder and her ear. “Is that okay?”

Jane twirled the pregnancy test between her thumb and forefinger, as if revealing its result for the first time. But it wasn’t the first time. Or even the tenth, or the hundredth. And she found every time felt much the same. A very brief, itty bitty little jolt, swiftly overtaken by a dull, resounding ache. It was that small jolt she wanted to grab hold of, to stretch the fabric of it between her fingers. “I won’t be alone. I have Ma, and my brothers,” she told him, then, her chest swelling with warmth, “and I have Maura.”

Casey laughed. “Dr. Isles doesn’t strike me as a baby’s ideal father figure.”

Jane grinned. If only Casey had seen Maura turning away Jane’s free drinks from men like a possessive husband. Half of Boston either knew she was pregnant, or believed that she was a lesbian, _or_ had deduced she was both a lesbian _and_ having a child with the Chief Medical Examiner and Jealous Maniac of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Jane picked her head up from the wall and clutched the phone against her ear. “Sure she is. Have you seen her under the hood?”

Casey cleared his throat. “ _What?_ No? Have _you_?”

“Of a _car_ , Casey, _Jesus._ ”

“This connection is kind of spotty.”

“Uh huh.”

Casey inhaled sharply into the receiver. “I trust her, Jane. I mean, to take care of you and the baby. This baby should have another parent, not an absentee father.”

Jane crinkled her nose. “What the hell are you going on about? You’ll still be its father, Casey. I don’t think Maura is looking to start a family with me.”

“I think Dr. Isles might have a few things to say about that, given how much time you’ve apparently been spending under her hood—”

“Kcccccchhh—huh yeah—kcchhhh—this connection _sucks—_ kchhh—”

“Jane—”

“Bye!” She set the phone on the ledge of the sink, left to consider the small stick between her fingers beneath the whirr of the fan.

Her stomach gurgled as if on cue.

Jane groaned and sank to her knees in front of the toilet. She barely had the time to chuck the test and flip the lid before her breakfast flew out her mouth.

Cool fingers glided through her hair and pulled the strays clear of the splash zone. _Maura_ , she realized, from the length and manicure of the nails soothing her scalp. When she sat back, the doctor was there to blot her mouth with a clean towel.

Jane turned to Dr. Maura Isles sitting poised on red kitten heels in a tight pencil skirt. “Oh, I _wish_ I hadn’t been too busy barfing to have seen you try to sit in that.”

Maura cocked a brow at her, vomit towel in hand. “Good morning to you, too, Jane.”

Something was off. Not a hair on Maura’s head was misplaced, her clothes were perfectly pressed, her foundation was evenly applied, but something had set off the detective in Jane. She leaned in, sniffing. “What’s that?”

Maura raised her arm and sniffed herself. “What? Aside from gastric acid and the contents of your stomach.”

“You smell like...nothing.”

Maura smiled and said with a shimmy, “It’s designer. Do you like?”

Jane grabbed the towel from her and patted her mouth again. “Did you have a rough start this morning and forget? That’s unlike you.”

“I didn’t _forget_ ,” Maura laughed. “When you nearly vomited on our victim yesterday, I realized I could be doing more for you—or less, as it were. I didn’t want to offend your senses when they were clearly already very sensitive.”

“ _Yeah_ , but your perfume doesn’t exactly smell like decomp.”

Maura furrowed her brow. “Jane, it’s a small price to pay to keep you comfortable.”

“You already bought me a motorcycle. Forwent your expensive perfume. What’s next? You’ll buy me an enormous house with a backyard for the little guy to run around in?”

Maura shrugged. “If you wanted it, yes,” she said, as if it was not _at all_ an outrageous request.

Jane collected her jaw. “You’re serious,” she deadpanned. “Maura, this is too much.”

Maura reached out and tucked a dark curl behind Jane’s ear. “It only seems that way because you ask for so little. I’d like to spoil you.”

Jane smiled slowly. “Is this a kink thing? You want to be my sugar mama?”

Maura drew her hand back to her chest, eyes wide. “Oh no. Do you really think that? I’d not even considered the possibility.” She tapped a finger to her lips. “Though spending money on a new pair of shoes has been known to turn me on—”

“Rizzoli!” Jane threw her phone so fast against her ear, the impact made her eyes reel. “Yup! I’ll be right over!” She shot to her feet, swished a cup of mouthwash, and bolted out the bathroom.

“That’s odd,” she heard Maura say, “I didn’t get a call.”

&&&

Casey really should have seen what Maura could do under the hood of a car.

It was a sight to behold, Dr. Isles trading in her pristine, white labcoat for a greased up tank and distressed jeans. Jane never really _got_ the whole appeal of gearheads like Giovanni, but seeing Maura get down and dirty with a motorcycle, she could understand.

Jane hid the flush rising up from her chest behind a glass of cold lemonade. It didn’t help this was a hot summer night, and watching Maura work was making her decidedly hotter.

Maura gave several powerful cranks of a wrench, the muscles giving and pulling hypnotically in her arm. She paused, threw a glance back at Jane, and continued to tighten the bolt.

Jane stood from her lean against the side of the house. “What?”

“Did you know—” She cranked the wrench again. “—Women achieve stronger orgasms when pregnant due to increased blood flow to the uterus?”

Jane set her glass down and swaggered over. “Really? That’s the line you’re going with?”

Maura laughed, polishing the sidecar with a rag. “It’s not a ‘line.’ It’s a ‘fun fact.’”

“Well, Dr. Isles, you also told me pregnant women have lower libido.”

She squinted at her reflection in the bike. “Did I say that?”

Jane hummed. “You did.”

Maura set the wrench down with a clang. She stood then. Jane only realized how close she’d been hovering when Maura, heelless as she was, was level with her nose. Jane peered down at her. She had rubbed away all her foundation, dirt bronzing her cheeks, a wild streak of grease across the bridge of her long nose. She smelled strongly of oil and sweat, her breath sweet with the wine she’d had with dinner.

She spun around Jane and pushed her to sit on the seat of her bike. She steadied herself over her with one grip on the handlebar.

Jane had to remind herself where she was. “Maura, wait.” Maura’s eyes darted to her mouth. A tremor rolled down Jane’s body. “You’re going to be in my life for a long time. And in this baby’s life, too.” She studied a smudge of grease on Maura’s clavicle. “I don’t wanna screw something good up because I’m not thinking clearly.”

Maura raised a brow. “Are you not thinking clearly, Jane?” Her voice, slow and sultry, shot heat straight down Jane’s stomach.

“ _No_ ,” Jane laughed. “I’m thinking with my crazy, horny mom hormones.” Then, she added, “And _shame_ on you for taking advantage of me when I’m like this.”

Maura drew back in mock-offense. “I’ve done no such thing.” She put a hand to her chin. “I think this was more effective last time with Frankie standing here.” A pause. “Should we try to unpack that?”

Jane blinked at her. “Wow. Good thing you took this moment out back and shot it point blank with a shotgun.” Maura’s laughter was so warm and infectious, that Jane herself could hardly get out the words, “I was really worried I couldn’t control myself.”

But Maura’s fit of laughter didn’t stop there, and Jane found herself impossibly endeared. “Maura.” She grabbed the doctor by her hips and drew her in close. A giggling Maura, tripping over her own feet, caught herself against Jane’s shoulders. Jane snaked her arms around her small waist, Maura still shaking with unbridled mirth. She squeezed the doctor until she quieted down. She could feel her every soft curve against her, the swell of her breasts, the careful slope of her neck, the sweep of her ribs. Jane had stared at Maura every day of her life for the past five years, but she had not imagined she _felt_ like this.

Jane cleared her throat. “I should get going.”

Maura said against her hairline, “Hmm. Goodnight, sidecar.” She withdrew from Jane’s embrace.

“Goodnight…motorcycle.” Her eyes widened. “ _Maura_ cycle.” She raised her hand in for a well-deserved high-five.

Maura blinked at her. “You just put my name in front of the word, ‘cycle.’ Janecycle.”

“You’re not getting. It sounds like—nevermind! Goodnight.”

&&&

“Maura, what is this?”

Jane _thought_ she was in the Beacon Hill home of one Dr. Maura Isles, but _apparently_ she was inside a baby Pinterest post. She stared in abject horror. The room oozed of inoffensive, pastel colors and rounded, simple forms. Of, course, this was a room by Maura’s design, and without the crib, the diaper bin, and the crates of toys, it might have just been another stylish bedroom in her house.

Jane looked back into the hall, wondering where she might have taken a wrong turn.

Maura squeezed in past her. “I was thinking about what you said.”

“Oh God. You _do_ have a sugaring kink?”

“ _No,_ about how we will be in each other’s lives for a long time.” She gestured to the room. “You spend a lot of time at my house, which means your baby will too.”

Jane felt Maura’s forehead and bent to check her eyes..

Maura laughed. “What are you doing?”

“Checking just _how_ horny you are right now.” The doctor’s skin was cool. Her pupils weren’t particularly dilated. Jane reared back. “Oh _yuck_ , you did this out of the kindness of your heart?”

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

“And you assembled all this yourself?”

She shrugged. “I can be quite handy.”

“Of course, Dr. Maura Isles can read Ikea.” Jane glanced about the room, swallowing back the tightness in her throat. She ran a hand down the doctor’s arm. “Thank you, Maur. I don’t really get why you’re making all this fuss over me, but thanks.” She pulled her in gently by the hand and kissed her cheek. She ignored how Maura’s breath hitched in her ear and how her own mouth went dry. She eased back and studied the knit of their fingers. “I know you’ve done a lot for me, but can I ask for just one more thing?”

“Yes, anything.” Maura sighed the words.

“Get rid of _that._ ” Jane jabbed a finger at a creepy doll jailed inside the crib.

“Aw, why? That’s Dainty Dolly. She cries and wets herself. She’s very rare.”

“I’d cry and wet myself too if I saw myself in the mirror looking like that. Jesus, Maura, you trying to traumatize this baby?”

“Fine.” Maura collected the scary doll. It flopped over in the cradle of her arms, big, pink eyes watching Jane from across the room. “I’ll box her up for now. Maybe your baby will appreciate Dolly when they’re older.”

“Yeah, when they can sell her for the thousand you must have dropped on her.”

“Oh, no, I’m sure her value will appreciate exponentially by then. That’s how these

collectibles work.”

Jane yanked the doll from Maura’s hands and hoisted it into the air. She might have imagined the holy ray of light that struck in that instant. “Well, in that case, Dolly can stay, if she’s gonna send this baby to college.”

&&&

Nothing quite hit the spot like a drink at the Dirty Robber on Maura’s tab. Sure, a virgin drink. But “free” could make even a mocktail taste good.

“Spending money on me might not turn you on—” Jane chased the words with a gulp. The doctor watched her from across the table, chin rested upon the weave of her fingers. “—but it’s definitely doing something for me.”

“Really?” Maura asked with that high pitch to her voice, that twinkle in her eye, as though on the verge of a huge, scientific discovery.

“No.” Jane slumped in the booth.

“What’s wrong, Jane?”

She sighed. “Casey.”

Maura leaned back in her seat, suddenly taking a great interest in her wine. She swirled the dark liquid in the glass.

“Some part of me believed that if I kept this baby, he would drop everything and come home. I know it was stupid of me to think that—he loves his job so much—but I just kept hoping that this would change things.”

“Mmhmm.” The glass sang as Maura slid her finger around its rim.

“Gee, Maura, sorry this Lifetime family drama is boring you.”

Maura glanced up at her. “I’m not bored.”

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.”

Jane narrowed her eyes. “Are those hives?”

Maura clutched her neck, eyes wide. “No.”

“Maura.”

“I just…” She peered into her glass again. “Sometimes wish you would take more notice of who is here, rather than who isn’t.”

Jane ducked her head, trying to catch her friend’s eye. “Hey. You know just because I love Casey doesn’t mean I don’t love you too, right?”

Maura’s face softened. “I know that.”

“Then why do you look like the last kid chosen for the kickball team?”

“Jane.” She drew a breath, and Jane braced herself for a classic Maura Isles long-winded tirade. But the doctor shook her head. “I’m going to head home.”

“What?” Jane was still tensed when Maura stood and shrugged her coat on. Half a second later, Jane scrambled to scoop up her keys. “Let me drive you.”

Maura fanned her hair out from under her collar. “I’ll take a cab.” She plucked her purse from the seat and strode toward the door. Her heels clacked against the hardwood as she came to a sharp stop and gave Jane a look that dropped her heart down the well of her stomach. “Please text me when you’ve gotten home safe.”

The door was fluttering on its hinges before Jane could assure her she would.

&&&

Jane got home by midnight. Out the shower by 12:30AM. In bed by 1AM.

It was a whopping 3AM, when Maura’s face on the backs of her eyelids had her still wide awake. Jane dug the heels of her palms into her eyes. “Jesus, it’s really burned in there.”

She squinted into the bright light of her phone. Refreshed Facebook for the millionth time, as if she used it regularly. And then her thumb hovered over Maura’s name, also for the millionth time.

“Jane?” Maura’s soft, sleepy voice came through before Jane realized she was making the call.

Jane fumbled for what to say in the amount of time Maura could have very well fallen back asleep. She breathed shakily into the receiver. “I’m home safe.”

There was a delay. “I’m glad.” Her words, breathy and warm with sleep, shivered through Jane. “Though a text would have sufficed.”

Jane smiled into her pillow. “I’ll Snapchat you next time.”

“You’ll _what_ me?”

“Snapchat. You know, that app the kids use these days.”

"I was under the impression that app was used to send dirty photos.”

“Ugh. What happened to good old-fashioned phone sex, huh?”

Maura laughed, her voice almost sultry when she asked, “Is that why you’re phoning me at 3AM, detective?”

Jane swallowed thickly, and in the most incredible recovery since Homicide last beat the Drug Unit in softball said, “Yes. What color are your PJs?”

“Jane, you know I don’t—”

“God.” Jane shut her eyes. “I remembered as soon as I asked.” Maura Isles slept in the nude.

“What are you calling about?”

“Maybe this conversation can wait until you’re not commando.” And I’m not _thinking_ about you being commando, Jane thought.

 “It’s fine, Jane.” She could hear the doctor’s smile. She supposed this was justifiable payback, for having been phoned at 3AM.

"Yeah, maybe for you,” she muttered. “I was calling to ask, what were you going to say to me? At the Robber?”

A sigh. “The completely wrong thing.”

“Dr. Maura Isles? Wrong?”

Maura laughed. “Yes, sometimes. Not often.” She paused. “I was doing all these things for you and didn’t stop to consider why.”

“What’s the diagnosis, doc?”

Jane waited with her eyes squeezed shut, phone pressed tight against her ear. “Maybe you’re right,” Maura said finally. “It’s best not to say. On the phone. At 3AM. In the nude.”

And like that, Jane felt the nerves. She became too aware of the slickness at the small of her back, the cold sweat under her arms, her clammy grip on the phone. And for what? It was just Maura. “I hear most people do their best thinking under those circumstances.” The line came out wobblier than a child learning cursive. She had to remind herself to breathe.

And Maura, the saint she was, came in hot with a save, “To clarify, you aren’t calling me to have phone sex?”

“How about an ‘I O U?’” Jane winced. Even _she_ could hear the promise in her joke.

“Hmm. See you in the morning.”

&&&

Jane was only aware of two things. The heat of Maura pressed to the side of the stretcher. And the dull throb in her abdomen.

“Maura…I feel off,” she whispered. Distantly, she could hear the ambulance’s siren blaring and the hum of the road beneath them.

Maura’s hand was cool against her forehead. “You’ll be fine. Everything will be alright.” The break in her voice sent a shudder down Jane’s spine.

“I ruined your date.”

Maura gripped her hand tight. She was laughing, or crying, maybe. “If you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to pull a stunt like this.”

Jane coughed a laugh. “The mixed signals you send me could _crash a plane_ , Maura. Oh—”

"What?” Maura’s voice came in quick and close.

"Hurts to laugh,” she croaked. She drifted to the terse chatter of Maura and the EMT. “I love you, Maur.”

Maura stopped mid-sentence and squeezed her hand again. “I love you, too, Jane.

&&&

For once, God came through and gave her a good hospital wheelchair. One that glided smoothly, took no unintended detours, had _both_ armrests, _and_ footrests too. And a best friend to push it.

“You’re not out of the woods yet,” Maura murmured over her shoulder. She had danced around the subject the past two days (much to her obvious discomfort, for Maura Isles would combust if she did not empty out the contents of her mind _the moment_ they were relevant), but she had somehow restrained herself for Jane’s sake. She had let the case, and Tasha, distract them from one of the hardest losses Jane had suffered in her life.

Jane sighed. “What are my options?”

“There are a few different treatments for you to consider,” Maura said, “to complete a miscarriage.” She rolled Jane past the nurse’s station for the tenth time. “Since you were barely into your second trimester, you can use a drug, a pill called misoprostol. It will force uterine contractions that will then expel whatever tissue remains.” She drew a breath. “You can achieve the same thing through dilation and curettage, which is an aspiration technique.”

Jane rolled her eyes, waiting for Maura to continue. It seemed even in her condition, the doctor wouldn’t take mercy on her. “And what, Dr. Isles, does dilation and croutons entail?”

“Dilation and curettage,” Maura corrected. “A doctor will dilate your cervix and scrape out the contents of your uterus—”

_“Ugh,_ no thanks. There will be no _scraping_ of my anything.”

Maura humored her with a laugh, but they both knew the laughter and jokes came from a place of discomfort. It seemed Maura had met her match—a space she could not adapt to, a piece she could not make fit. “The other option is you can miscarry naturally. It will take several days. There will be a lot of bleeding and cramping.”

“Greaaat. Like a mega bad period.”

“Yes,” she said. “Whether you decide to take the misoprostol or not, we can manage the symptoms at home. I will be there with you the whole way.”

Jane leaned her head back and rested it against Maura’s stomach. The wheelchair rolled to a stop as the doctor peered down at her, eyes red and watery, and she smoothed Jane’s hair back. “I like that option,” Jane murmured to her.

Maura smiled. “Me too.”

&&&

Maura stocked her bedroom like a bunker. She had filled the drawers with pads and bed liners, compresses and painkillers. She’d bought Jane several changes of clothes, and underwear also, in a charming display of care that Jane _had_ to take issue with, if only to save face. However, there was little dignity to be salvaged, she realized, when she woke up every damn night that week, her shirt soaked with sweat—the pain had been _that_ bad—and her pants with blood. And Maura, ever-vigilant even in REM sleep, had gotten up each time to peel off her soiled clothes, wash her, dress her in a fresh set, change the liner, sometimes change the sheets, too.

And if that hadn’t disrupted Maura’s perfect sleep-cycle, Jane twisting around in bed beside her surely must have.

Maura rolled onto her shoulder and watched Jane in the quiet darkness of her bedroom.

“Fuck,” Jane gasped. “I’m sorry, Maura. It hurts like hell.” She clutched at her abdomen.

“Don’t apologize, please.” The doctor sat up, the blanket sliding down her body. “Let me get you a heating pad.”

Jane flung the compress from her stomach. “I got one already. It’s not doing it for me.”

Maura nodded. “You haven’t been bleeding as heavily, but there is likely still stale blood and tissue your body is trying to get rid of—hence the pain.” Her eyes lit up, and her hands came together. “How about a post-natal massage?”

Jane propped herself up on her elbows. “Did you just make that up?”

“A post-natal massage is crucial to any recovery from a birthing event. It will help your body expel the remaining blood and tissue and get your menstrual cycle back on track, as well as help to realign your pelvis.”

“Hmm. I love it when you talk dirty.”

She smiled. “How does that sound?”

Jane snorted. “It sounds like an elaborate excuse to feel me up.”

Maura shrank back, her brow furrowed. “Well, I can schedule an appointment with a professional therapist. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Jane stayed Maura with a hand to her leg. The muscle in her thigh was tensed. Jane wouldn’t have the doctor running out of her own bedroom because of her big, stupid mouth. “ _I’ve noticed_ ,” she joked, feigning shock. “You slept six whole nights with your clothes on. I’m a lucky girl.” Maura smiled and relaxed under her touch. “What do I need to do?”

“Wait right here.”

Maura returned minutes later at her bedside, a small bowl between her hands. “I’m going to pour oil on your abdomen. It will be warm.”

Jane nodded and inched her shirt up. The oil spilled slowly over her stomach with shocking and pleasant heat. She shut her eyes and sank further into her pillow as Maura’s strong hands, cupped together, rotated across her abdomen in a gentle, clockwise gesture.

“How is that?” Maura’s voice was like the warm oil. The pain had gone from her abdomen, but a new pain appeared, a dull, hot ache between her legs.

Jane pressed her thighs together. “Good.” The word was strangled.

Maura continued the circular motion, occasionally letting her palms wander from their path, fingertips like tiny flames against Jane’s skin. She slid one hand under the small of Jane’s back, the other on her stomach, as if two magnets in attraction. Then she placed one hand on top of the other and pressed upon Jane’s abdomen, easing out the tension.

She smoothed her hands down Jane’s waist. “Do your breasts hurt, too?”

Jane cracked open an eye. “Okay. Now I _know_ you’re just trying to cop a feel.”

“ _I am not_ ,” Maura said in mock offense. “You may have begun to lactate, and if you don’t properly drain—”

“Jesus, _drain_? I have to _drain_ my _boobs_?”

“Yes, Jane, you have to drain your boobs.” Jane laughed, half in defeat, half at how ridiculous those words sounded out of Maura’s mouth. “If you don’t, they can become painful and engorged—”

“Maura. _Please_ stop talking about my boobs like they aren’t here.”

Maura smiled. “Fine. If you have no pain, then it’s a non-issue.”

Jane sighed. “Thank God.”

&&&

Of course, the first night back in her own bed, Jane’s breasts hurt like _hell_.

It was another late-night call to the good doctor. “Jane? Is everything alright?”

“About that ‘I O U…’”

“Are you serious?”

“ _No_ , can I even have sex? Don’t I need to be cleared for that or something?”

“Well, penetrative sex is not medically advisable, but—”

“The reason I’m calling is,” she said, cutting Maura off. She mumbled, quickly and quietly, “My boobs hurt.”

“What?”

“My boobs. Hurt.” She braced herself for laughter, for an “I told you so,” but Maura’s voice was instead swift and worried and gentle—

“I can be over in ten minutes.”

“No, Maura, Jesus—this isn’t a booty call. You don’t have to rush over,” Jane laughed. “Can you…I don’t know…instruct me?”

“Instruct you,” Maura repeated flatly. “Yes, I suppose I can do that.” Jane shut her eyes and waited for Maura’s voice again. “Ready?”

Her heart hammered in her throat. “Yeah.”

“Place four fingers at the top of a breast, then another four at the bottom of that same breast.” Jane did as instructed. “Massage in a circular motion.”

Jane sighed into the receiver. Her breast was too tender for even that simple gesture, but she built quick tolerance to the pain. “In that same circular pattern, slide to the side of your breast.” Jane reveled in the touch, pushing her chest into her fingers. “Then, you can make a fist and knead your chest.” Jane gasped. “Are you alright?”

She swallowed. “Y-Yeah.”

After a pause, Maura answered, “Okay.” Jane swallowed another involuntary sound. “You can repeat this as you like,” Maura told her. “And you can hand express, too, if you need to.”

“Um.” Jane breathed hard. “Maybe not while I have you on the phone. A little too kinky for me.”

She couldn’t miss the quiver in Maura’s laugh. “I can always hang up.”

“No,” she murmured, “stay.”

Maura went quiet on the other end. Jane continued to massage her breasts, replaying Maura’s instructions to herself, imagining Maura had come over after all, and touched her. Her face burned at the idea.

“What are you doing, Jane?” Maura whispered, reminding Jane that she was still on the line, that the woman she was fantasizing of was just a word away.

“I’m rolling my breasts in my hands,” Jane described, the sentence broken by labored breaths.

“Jane, should I—”

“Are you naked?”

There was a pause, a hitch of air. “Yes.”

Jane was feverish all over, imagining Maura’s skin bare against her bedsheets. She pushed a hand down her pants and cupped herself through her underwear. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I’m rubbing myself—” Jane could hear her trembling. “You sound…” The thought was interrupted by a harsh gasp.

“Fuck, Maura.” Jane sank lower into her mattress and spread her legs. She slid her fingers against her slick heat. The ache in her breast had become a dull and pleasant sensation. Her ear burned against the phone. Maura’s soft moans spurred her on. Her breathing had quickened, and Jane felt just as close. “I’m gonna—”

Jane shuddered hard. She stroked herself through her climax to Maura’s gasping breaths.

She collapsed against her sheets and listened to her pulse in her ears and Maura finishing not long after.

The line went quiet.

After some time, “Jane?”

“Hmm.”

“Do your breasts still hurt?”

Jane laughed. “No, Maur. Thank you.”

&&&

Maura tacked the “For Sale” sign onto the windscreen of her motorcycle.

Jane watched her from the doorway. “What are you doing?”

“Selling it.”

“Why? You’ve barely ridden it.” She came toward the doctor under the glare of the streetlight. “And I thought you repaired the sidecar.”

“I did, but—” Maura shrugged. “It feels strange. Sitting in my driveway. It’s all part of completing the miscarriage, I suppose.”

“Scraping out the uterus, you mean.”

She made a face. “That does sound unpleasant.”.

“Can we take it for a spin first?”

Maura looked her up and down, and smiled, as if pleased with her evaluation. She handed her a helmet.

Jane pointed to the sidecar. “Do I have to sit in that? It makes me feel like I’m a Mario Kart character.”

Maura leaned back, mouth open. “ _Now_ you tell me, after watching me toil away at it for hours?”

Jane grinned. “I was enjoying myself.” It wasn’t every day she saw Dr. Maura Isles covered in sweat and grease.

Maura laughed and returned a roguish smile. “I bet you were.” She sat on the bike, leather jacket done up, tight jeans stretched around her calves, black, studded Chelsea boots saddled in the pedals. It was an image straight out of a gearhead’s full-bleed calendar. Jane swallowed. “There’s room for you up here.” The engine roared to life, headlights blasting.

Jane slipped the sign from windscreen and slid in behind Maura. She sucked in a sharp breath when her groin straddled the seat. She hadn’t quite fully recovered.

Maura revved the engine, and Jane sank forward against her back. She hissed. Her breasts ached still, too.

She wouldn’t let the pain distract her from the moment, however, as the bike took off down Beacon Hill. She focused instead on Maura’s sweet perfume she had so missed, the even cadence of Maura’s breath beneath her cheek, and the Maura’s hand, reaching back to squeeze her thigh. There was peace, and Maura had made it so.


End file.
